


The Phoenix to The Flame

by Chromi



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Universe, Consensual, Drinking & Talking, Emotional, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Family, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 07:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: Ace wakes one morning with a migraine, the first one he's ever had. In his search for help he finds Marco, and things unravel from there.Set soon after Ace officially joins the Whitebeard Pirates.





	1. Chapter 1

Ace was in pain. Pain so acute in its onset that he wondered whether he had accidentally smashed his skull into something before passing out where he lay. But no, he could remember getting into the small, soft bed the night before, cheeks warm with the glow of good alcohol after a hilarious evening on deck with Thatch and Teach. No, he hadn’t done himself an injury when toppling under the snug blanket and snoring himself into a stupor within minutes, nor had he done anything stupid like fall out of bed or knock himself unconscious on his head board… that he could recall, at least.

No, this was something else entirely. Something he wasn’t familiar with but had heard tale of many a time.

Ace was experiencing his first migraine.

He had always just assumed that a migraine was a bad headache. People so frequently moaned about how their head was pounding - usually after a heavy drinking session - and the world was spinning, and that it _had_ to be a migraine. Just a worse-than-regular throbbing of the head, nothing a dose of Paracetamol and a quiet sit down up in the crow’s nest couldn’t solve.

But oh, this was so different. The light that filtered into the room from under the closed door seemed intent on stabbing Ace’s very brain through his eyes, and the muffled thumping of feet pounding the floor in the deck above his quarters seemed to rattle his every neuron within the confinement of his aching skull. Curiously, the right side of his face hurt too, and this time it wasn’t because he had fallen asleep with his cheek nestled into Thatch’s paddle hairbrush.

He didn’t know what to do. Going outside to seek pain relief didn’t seem like an option - the mere thought of getting up, getting dressed (or at least Ace’s version of getting dressed, which meant donning a pair of shorts and little else), and speaking had the young man groaning, and even that low sound squeezed at his nerves and sent misery coursing through his veins.

Would anyone come looking for him when it became apparent he wasn’t going to turn up for breakfast? Probably not, he figured, as it was still reasonably early days since taking on Whitebeard’s mark upon his back, and he hadn’t sufficiently developed a decent bond with anyone yet save for Thatch, Teach, and of course the previous Spade Pirates, none of whom Ace would be willing to bet on sacrificing their own breakfast in order to come find him. Plus, he reasoned, they would all just assume that he was still snoring away happily, wrapped around the bottle of rum he had sneaked down into the bowels of the ship with him the night before in his merry scheme. He reached out a hand above his head and, yep, there it was, cold to the touch and still at least a quarter fall, judging by the weight against his fingers.

_“There must be a doctor on this ship,”_ Ace thought desperately, carefully rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket up and over his head in an effort to keep the damn light from out of his eyes. _“There must be someone who can look after the crew. Even pirates get sick.”_

He knew of Whitebeard’s personal harem of beautiful nurses - no one could possibly miss them - but they were exclusively there to care for the old man’s needs and rebuked any pleadings for attention from any of the other crew members. Ace’s own previous first mate, Deuce, was a doctor, Ace remembered with a start, but then his heart sunk again when that thought was swiftly followed by the memory of how they had fallen out when Deuce expressed his intent to care for their giant captain before Ace had been ready to accept him. They still hadn’t talked it through and made up, the subject too embarrassing and sensitive at the moment.

Ace longed to hear Thatch’s cheery voice at that moment, even if it meant making his head hurt from the sound of it. He clung to the tiny hope that Thatch would appear at any moment with two painkillers and a glass of water to make this all go away; Ace was yet to understand that this kind of pain would need more than simple analgesics to make him feel better.

He fell asleep again slowly at this minutely happy thought.

***

The couple of hours of sleep that he grabbed did do Ace some good, thankfully. The light from the corridor no longer threatened to destroy his eyes and the sounds of the ship around him had subsided into a more manageable white noise, but he still felt washed out. The side of his face still hurt, and when he laid a palm to his freckled cheek he winced at the contact. It felt as though the nerves in his skin were being assailed by a minuscule, unknown invader.

Ace slowly pulled his shorts up around his hips and fastened his belt before pulling on his boots and opening the shared bedroom’s door, squinting against the harsher than usual light that hit him. He thought he knew where the medical bay was, as he was pretty sure he had carried at least one crew member there after a rowdy fight had broken out in a market square during their last land visit. He couldn’t be sure, though - that day had been a blur of fists, running, and adrenaline.

But still, his feet carried him in the direction they deemed most likely to find relief from the pain in his head.

Ace eventually found the room he was looking for and was pleased to see a large red cross on the door, signifying that it was indeed the medical bay. He pushed the door open slowly, revealing a large room that looked somewhat like a cross between a hospital ward and a minor injuries unit. Along one wall were a few chairs, along the opposite were hospital beds lined up with monitoring equipment hanging alongside them, and at the back of the room was a counter with locked cabinets underneath it and along the wall. Ace was alone in the room save for another man who was crouched in front of one of the floor cabinets, rummaging around inside. Ace cleared his throat, gaining the man’s attention.

As the man turned around and stood to see who had entered, Ace recognised him with a start. He didn’t recognise all that many people yet due to only starting to make an effort to learn their names and faces rather recently. This man was Marco, the first division commander and the one responsible for ultimately convincing Ace to join the crew. Ace felt warmth in his chest sputter into life and flicker there as they held each other’s gaze, neither speaking for a moment.

Ever since that evening when Ace had taken Marco’s words on board, he had wanted to thank the blond for effectively winning him over with his genuine love for Whitebeard and the crew as a whole. Ace had been touched not only by Marco’s words, but also his calm, open honesty. Marco, unlike the rest of the crew who had imparted words of wisdom unto him during his tirade of attacks on their father, was straightforward, to the point, and didn’t dance around Ace’s feelings like he was a fragile child that was prone to violent outbursts. _You accept this or you leave_ , was the long and short of what Marco had told him. Ace didn’t think he could ever thank the man enough or even begin to sum up how much power his words and simple presence had held over the Fire Fist.

“Hey, Marco,” Ace said, raising a hand in greeting to the commander, “didn’t expect to find you in here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for ages.”

Marco didn’t reply immediately, eyeing Ace with an impassive expression. Then he set down the tiny glass vial of liquid that he had taken from the cabinet on the top of the counter and leaned easily against the wooden surface; Ace wasn’t sure why, but he got the distinct impression that Marco was thinking hard.

“Have you?” Marco asked at length, his calm eyes following Ace’s right hand as the younger man cupped his cheek again; the pain in his face throbbed. “What about?”

“I wanted to thank you for convincing me to stay,” Ace replied, and the tiny shift in Marco’s eyebrows didn’t go unnoticed. “I didn’t get a chance before. But first, I don’t suppose you know if there’s a doctor on board, do you? I think I’ve got a migraine.”

Marco pushed himself away from the counter and towards Ace at these words, studying his face with an almost clinical interest. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the empty chairs along the wall to Ace’s left, “and describe your symptoms for me, please.”

Ace’s surprise was very poorly masked as he stared at Marco, dropping into a chair and gaping at him. “You’re a doctor?” He asked, stunned.

“Yes,” was the short, completely insufficient reply as Marco pulled another chair round and dropping into it so that he was facing Ace, crossing one long leg over the other and watching his patient keenly. Ace nodded slowly to prompt him to divulge more, clearly disbelieving that a pirate of Marco’s calibre could be a qualified doctor. “I’m qualified in general medicine, general minor surgery, field surgery, and my specialist interests are dermatology and care of the elderly, although as you can see, we only have Pops on board who would come under the latter category.” Ace snorted. “So, describe this migraine for me.”

As Ace recounted everything he had felt since waking, his mind was whirling. What was a proper, experienced doctor doing on board the most dangerous pirate ship in the world, acting as it’s captain’s first mate, no less? Ace had always believed doctors to be rich, self-rewarding individuals who liked to pat themselves on the back after saving a life, but Marco didn’t strike him as one of these. He was listening attentively, nodding to encourage Ace when he had difficulty describing the way the light had hurt when he initially woke up. Ace felt his cheeks begin to color - he felt like he was under a spotlight, being watched so closely by those cool blue eyes.

“Is this the first time you’ve had one?” Marco asked as Ace came to the end of his symptom description.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Any existing medical conditions?”

“Just narcolepsy,” Ace replied. “What?” He demanded, annoyance flaring in his stomach at the way Marco smiled at this information.

“I had heard a rumour about your fabled dinnertime entertainment - I didn’t think it was true, though. I’m amazed I haven’t witnessed it yet.” Marco confessed, looking amused.

“Yeah, well,” Ace said, attempting to retain some dignity, “it doesn’t happen _every_ time I eat, just sometimes when I’m talking and eating at the same time, for whatever reason. I don’t know. Did you hear about it from Thatch?” He added as an afterthought. Not that it particularly mattered who the source was, since so many of the crew had witnessed Ace dropping face first into his dinner on multiple occasions over the months he had been on board, but Ace knew that the two commanders were good friends.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Marco’s smile disappeared as he changed track, recognising that they were going off on a tangent. “Anyway - any relevant family history?”

Ace bristled. “I never met my parents.”

Marco simply blinked, not pressing the subject. “No recent neck or head injuries?”

“Don’t think so,” Ace replied with a shrug, thankful that Marco had the tact to not react to his admission to being an abandoned orphan. “No one can touch me now that I’m made of fire.”

“Hm,” Marco hummed in apparent thought. Ace wondered if it was because of something he had said, but then Marco was rising and stepping to the cabinets that lined the wall, unlocking and swinging open one of the wooden doors and searching for something. “I’m going to prescribe a medicine called Propranolol for you. I don’t usually give out beta blockers for someone’s first ever migraine, but it’ll help with any anxiety you might have, too.” Marco ignored the way Ace spluttered indignantly and carried on. “Take one 10mg tablet up to three times a day for a couple of weeks and see how you get on. We can increase the dose if needs be, and if these migraines become a regular occurrence then I’ll switch you to Amitriptyline or Candesartan.” Marco’s eyes suddenly lit up into what Ace could only surmise as mischievousness. “We can’t have our little fireball being off on sick leave, after all.”

Ace took the small packet of medication that was handed to him, mumbling his thanks along with, “I don’t have anxiety issues.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Marco smiled, ruffling Ace’s untidy black hair in an unexpected show of affection that surprised him almost as much as it surprised Ace. “None of us do and we’re all perfectly healthy. Now take one of those and stay in bed for the rest of the day; I’ll tell Pops I’m signing you off until the evening, and I’ll bring you some dinner later.”

Ace stood to leave, avoiding Marco’s gaze as his eyes laid on the glass vial Marco had set down earlier. “Just out of interest, what is that?”

Marco glanced at where Ace was looking and smirked. Ace already wished he hadn’t asked. “That’s Botulinum toxin - Botox,” Marco added at the confused look on the younger man’s face. “It has many uses, including treatment for chronic migraine, believe it or not. _That_ vial,” his smirk broadened, “is destined to be injected into someone’s ass, though. Shame I can’t tell you whose; confidentiality and all that. Pops would have my head.”

Ace wasn’t sure if he believed Marco as he left the medical bay, popping a pill in his mouth and swallowing it before heading back to bed at the doctor’s instruction. He felt restless, like going to bed was the last thing he wanted to do, but his head throbbed and he reluctantly did as he was told. There was so much he still wanted to talk to Marco about, so many questions he had ready for him and so much to discuss.

Marco was certainly an interesting man, there was no doubt about that.

***

Ace was honestly surprised to see Marco standing in the doorway, arms laid with a tray of food and a mug of something to drink, when he opened the door much later that evening. Sure, Marco had said he would come, but Ace had assumed the commander would end up giving the task to someone lower ranked and thus sporting more free time than himself for such a menial task.

Ace had misjudged him and it showed clearly on his face.

“Surprised I came?” Marco asked as Ace took the tray from him and hurried far too eagerly over to the bed to sit down and tuck in.

“Yeah, actually,” Ace confessed, “you’re a busy guy, after all. I hardly ever see you in the mess hall for dinner.”

“I usually eat with Pops on deck so we can talk - he struggles with the background noise and distractions too much down with the crew, it would be impossible to have a proper conversation if he kept trying to join in with the others guys’ chatter.”

_Fair enough_ , Ace nodded as he grabbed hungrily at his dinner - a huge home made baguette stuffed with what looked like pepperoni, chicken, ham, and brie. “Christ, who made this? It looks incredible.”

“Thatch himself.”

“Seriously? What’s our head chef doing, making this especially for me?”

Marco smiled as Ace took a bite and groaned in appreciation. “He’s incredibly fond of you. Thinks the sun shines out your ass.”

Ace chuckled as he munched, his expression softening with affection for his brother.

“How’s your head feeling now?” Marco asked, sitting on the lower bunk opposite Ace’s and resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward into the narrow space between the two beds. Only division commanders got their own private bedrooms with markedly more luxurious double beds rather than single bunk beds; everyone else shared with others from their own division, and in Ace’s case he had been slotted where there had been a spare bed, which happened to be in one of the second divisions’ shared rooms. He counted himself quite lucky as he got on well with everyone he shared with, especially Teach.

“Good,” Ace said through a mouthful of baguette, his cheeks bulging comically, “I slept for a few more hours and woke up just before you knocked. I’m bored shitless of being in bed, though.”

“That’s good to hear,” his doctor replied.

“Oh, you’re on the watch shift tonight, right?” Ace swallowed thickly before continuing. “I’ll take it for you if you want; I won’t be able to sleep again after sleeping most of the day, and I want to thank you, so let me do this for you.”

Marco regarded the younger man for a moment, then said, “I don’t need thanking for doing my job. Don’t worry about it.”

It was hard to tell under the dim artificial light of the bedroom light - that bulb _really_ needed changing - but Marco was certain that Ace’s cheeks darkened a little. “Not just for that. For everything. I’ve said my thanks to Thatch already, but you’re really good at disappearing right when I want to speak to you. I’m really grateful for how much you’ve, y’know…”

He trailed off lamely and paused, apparently weighing up whether to finish that sentence or not, before filling the awkward silence with shovelling down his food instead.

Marco knew, or thought he knew, how Ace must have felt. It was true that Marco had taken an exceptional interest in the Fire First from the moment he had been carried on board the Moby Dick flagship in Whitebeard’s arms after being knocked unconscious by the giant man. The boy had been fierce, undeniably strong, and stubborn to the point where the crew had had many bets running for weeks over how long Ace would last before their old man gave him such a beating that he gave up.

But that day had never come. Ace had slowly but surely grown friendly with the crew and his assassination attempts had become more and more half-hearted as the days had gone on, and under the influence of Whitebeard’s love for his family and the incessant kindness from the crew, Ace had transformed from a sullen, rage-filled teenager to a radiant beacon of life on the ship. He was clearly intelligent, likeable, kind, and powerful, and Marco had actually enjoyed watching his progression from one version of himself to the other.

“You intrigue me,” Marco admitted, no embarrassment evident in his tone or face; he was too old to be coy nowadays. Ace’s eyes went wide, questioning, as he struggled to swallow the last of his meal and reached for his drink. “Your energy and personality are infectious and you naturally pull people in. I’ve never seen the crew respond to a newbie the way they have to you. And personally,” Marco leaned forward just slightly more, “I want to know more about you. You have secrets you haven’t told the others, and I want to know what they are, if you’ll tell me.”

“Wow.” Ace snorted, setting down his now empty mug and eyeing Marco with a burning intensity that hadn’t been there before. He set his tray down on the bed beside him and leaned to match Marco’s stance, his elbows on his knees and his fingers loosely interlocked. There was less than a foot of space between their hands. “You sure as hell don’t beat about the bush.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why now? I’ve been a crew member for a couple of months; you could have asked at any time.”

Marco shrugged. “Finding time alone with you has been difficult, to say the least. You’re always surrounded by people.”

“And you’re always by Pops’ side.”

Marco nodded, the observation indicative that Marco was not the only one who had been waiting for an opportunity to talk, clearly. “This is the first chance I’ve had to speak to you one to one for some time. I could have made a targeted effort to come and find you, but I didn’t want to make you feel cornered.”

Ace considered him for a long moment before speaking again. “Does Pops ever share what others tell him?” Was his unexpected question. “Like, if someone were to go to him with something personal, would he ever tell you about it? You’re his first mate, it wouldn’t be unheard of.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Marco said, and Ace visibly relaxed a little. “And I wouldn’t want him to. Neither of us would betray our crew’s trust like that.”

Ace hummed in thought. Marco had described him as intriguing, but that was exactly what Ace thought of the blond man in return. He couldn’t work him out and he had so many questions for him, yet still unsure of where to start.

And yet Ace felt that he trusted him implicitly, had done so from the moment both Marco and Thatch had taken him under their wings almost straight away. While Thatch favored the up close and personal approach with taking care of him, whenever Ace had made eye contact with Marco he was always already watching him, his calm, dark blue eyes fixed on his brown own. At first Ace had angrily misread this as something akin to a taunt, that Marco was silently reminding him at any given moment that he was under surveillance and that the blond was on hand and ready to knock him down a peg should he try anything stupid.

But it never happened. Marco had never intervened when Ace went for Whitebeard, never tried to intercept him or hinder him, and it had maddened Ace at first. It had taken a good few weeks to work out that that unfaltering, relaxed gaze was one of concern, of caring, and not aggression.

Words, Ace knew only too well, did not win people over. Actions did. The body speaks louder than any volume of noise.

“I trust you.”

The admission took Marco by surprise, he had to admit. Ace’s cheeks weren’t colored pink underneath his freckles any more.

“As your treating physician, I’m glad to hear that.” Marco’s eyes sparkled with the smile that tugged at his lips. Ace huffed a laugh, smiling back at him; the sound was nothing short of melodic to the older man’s ears. Ace had never laughed - or smiled - for the first couple of months on board the Moby Dick, but when he had finally begun to drop his guard a little, Marco had discovered that the kid had a laugh as warm and consuming as the sun, and he basked in it.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Ace paused, as if gathering himself. Then: “how old are you?”

Marco actually laughed at this, a short bark of mirth. “God, I was expecting something way more serious than that! Why on earth do you want to know my age? Are you trying to make me feel old, or something?”

“No, no,” Ace shook his head quickly, “that’s not it at all. You can’t be _that_ old, anyways.”

Marco chuckled. He couldn’t see how this information could be at all relevant, but he would indulge Ace for now. “I’m 23 years older than you.” Good lord, that made him feel elderly.

Ace frowned a little, evidently not sure whether to believe him or not. “You’re seriously 41?”

“Yes. 42 next week, actually.” _And that means Ace really is just 18 years old, as Pops had surmised,_  Marco realised.

Age wasn’t a particularly important thing among pirates, other than when it was used to insult each others’ declining cognitive abilities; the majority began drinking, smoking, sleeping around, stealing, and even committing murder during their early teen years, forced to mature and become adults far more quickly than people of more advantageous circumstances did, given their usually dire dealt hand in life. Marco knew for a fact that Ace had been forced to grow up exponentially quicker than a lot of his nakama had, but he didn’t have the young man’s life story to accompany this knowledge. Not yet, anyway. Even when face-down on the deck in a drunken stupor, Ace never told stories of his past outside of adventures he had had with his younger brother, Luffy, who the crew all considered fondly despite never meeting the boy in person; Ace’s stories were fun and endearing enough to like the younger brother as much as the older.

Whatever Marco had expected, it wasn’t what Ace asked next.

“So that must mean you were around when Roger was?” They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, Marco trying to work out where this was going, Ace looking apprehensive and, surprisingly, nervous all of a sudden, like he didn’t want to hear Marco’s reply but felt he needed to. Marco simply nodded, and Ace exhaled heavily. “He and Pops were on par with each other and respected one another, so I have heard. Red-Haired Shanks told me that they would sometimes drink together on each other’s ships, even, when they got bored of fighting. Does that mean you knew him personally?”

“I did, but not well, obviously. He was only interested in Pops.”

Ace leaned closer still, interested yet very noticeably anxious, as if he was ready to tear away at the first hint of danger. Marco felt a bubble of pity well up in his chest at the sight, wanting to comfort the Fire Fist without understanding why. “And did you know his… um… partner? They didn’t marry, but Gramps told me that Roger loved her.”

Marco closed his eyes slowly, the memory of the strawberry blonde woman washing over him instantly, recalled in perfect clarity. Rouge. Strikingly beautiful, she had had a calming air about her and had been, in Marco’s not so humble opinion, far too good for the damn bastard Roger.

“I only ever met her the once,” Marco divulged, at a loss as to why Ace was asking about a woman long dead, but figuring he wouldn’t remain ignorant for long. “After Roger died, we helped her go into hiding. We convinced Roger’s crew to not get involved in case they were questioned and tortured by the government. She was pregnant with his child, she had said, and Pops took it upon himself to move her somewhere safe because they would have killed her to end his bloodline. I don’t know what happened to her after that, although I heard she had passed away a couple of years after Roger.”

What was that expression on Ace’s face? He looked mournful yet excited at once, the combination a little unnerving, in all honesty. How could Rouge have been in any way significant to this boy? Marco got the distinct impression that this conversation wasn’t just for curiosity’s sake - Ace could have asked anyone about Roger and Rouge’s history; heck, he had spent a night in Shanks’ crew’s company, he could have discussed Rouge with almost any of them as they had surely known her far better than Marco had.

After a pregnant silence spanning a solid 30 seconds, Marco tentatively asked, “was she significant to you?” Ace dropped his gaze to his clasped hands, looking away from Marco at last. It was a sign of resignation, that Marco was about to learn something wholly incredible.

“Rouge was my mother,” came the confession in a hushed, quiet voice. “She held me in her womb for 20 months to avoid possible detection. She died after naming me. I owe my life to her.”

There it was. The secret that Ace carried, that was so prominent in his mind and everything he did, his every choice, his every outburst of rage, the reason why he had wanted Whitebeard dead. Roger’s son. _His_ son.

_But no,_ the doctor within Marco snorted in disbelief, _no one could carry a child for 20 months. That’s medically impossible._  But as he studied Ace’s downcast face closely, carefully, he could see the resemblance of the woman he had not thought about for the last 20 years. He remembered her well - who could forget the lover of the Pirate King? - and she had been beautiful, brave, and keenly aware of her situation. Ace had her soulful, deep brown eyes and her smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He had the same shaped face as her, the same forehead framed by thick, wavy hair that spoke of the sea air, the same shaped eyebrows. Nothing in his features spoke of Roger, save for the color of his hair and that same infectious grin that could grace his lips.

Marco’s logic found it hard to believe, but he felt like the evidence was staring him in the face, unnoticed until now. Of course he couldn’t have known; even if they looked similar, there was no way Marco - or anyone - could have guessed that Ace was Roger and Rouge’s son.

“Are you disgusted?”

Ace was looking at him again, defiance and fear written in his features. Marco shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “I’m not. Why would I be?”

Ace grimaced in disbelief. “I’m Roger’s son. I shouldn’t exist. I won’t pass on this tainted bloodline any further; it ends with me. Roger shouldn’t have burdened my mother with the fate of carrying a demon within her.”

“But you are you, not Roger.”

Ace’s expression hardened further under Marco’s calm gaze. His headache was creeping back again. “That’s what Pops said,” he said, resentment for their acceptance palpable in his voice, “he said everyone is a child of the sea regardless of their birth, and that I’m his son now so it doesn’t matter anyway.” The young man jutted his chin out, a silent expression of challenge. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s right, and I think I don’t care about the fact that Roger was your father. In the nicest way possible, of course. Pops loves you, the crew loves you, and I-”

Marco pulled up short, unable to finish his sentence. Ace raised an eyebrow.

“And you?” He prompted.

“And I still think you’re stunning, regardless.”

The tension left Ace in one loud laugh, his shoulders shaking with the action. “God, you’re something else,” Ace chuckled, leaning backwards and supporting himself with a hand on the bed behind his back, running his free hand through his hair with a grin. “All of you. Pops actually attempted to kiss me on the head when he told me that it didn’t change anything. You’re all _way_ too accepting of shit, y’know?”

Marco shrugged, expression impassive as was so common for him. “Or perhaps your lineage simply isn’t that big of a deal to us. We value people based on who they are and what they do, not where they come from or are born into. Did you know Thatch comes from an incredibly wealthy family in South Blue? Or that Haruta was a royal guard? Or that my own mother was a prostitute who ran her own brothel?” This settled Ace down immediately, his laughter subsiding at once. “We do not choose what we are born into or who our parents are, Ace. We choose how we live our lives and who we become based on that. Your birth holds no bearing over you as an individual and you need to get that into your head. I’ve heard how the public speaks of Roger and it can’t have been even remotely easy having to grow up with that in your ear. But know this: you are not a mistake, you are not the son of a devil, and you are most definitely allowed to live and be happy.”

Ace looked away, eyes downcast and that lovely little blush back there across his freckled cheeks. God, Marco thought those freckles were endearing. He vaguely recalled thinking the same thing about Rouge’s all those years ago, too.

“Thank you,” Ace said quietly, looking up at Marco through his lashes now, “for accepting me.”

The atmosphere changed perceptibly with these hushed words of gratitude. It was suddenly thick and heavy, hanging between the two men as they looked at each other steadily in silence. Gone was Ace’s guard, Marco could feel it; the man had bared his darkest part of himself to the commander, and the mystery that shrouded him was erased like a fog lifting. Marco was quite sure he would never see that sullen, miserable, self-loathing teenager ever again in Ace.

Ace leaned forwards to rest his elbows on his knees once more, but this time as he did so his fingers brushed lightly against Marco’s as he clasped them. Marco could see in his dark eyes that this had not been an accident, and something dark and vulgar stirred deep within the doctor’s soul. Something that had not reared it’s head for a long, long time. Something which urged him to do strictly taboo things with his really rather attractive, emotionally open brother. His brother who was surely looking for someone to comfort him right now during his clearly vulnerable state…

But Marco pulled away, crossing a leg over the other and leaning back on his hands. Ace took the hint, his eyes brightening as whatever curious haze that had momentarily clouded them dissipated, and Marco was certain that he had had the same expression just seconds ago.

That had been dangerous.

“I can tell you what I know about Rouge, if you like,” Marco offered, pulling them back into normal conversation. “I didn’t know her well, but I do remember her. I’m sure Pops has told you a lot about Roger already.”

“Yeah, he has,” Ace admitted, looking interested in what Marco had to say about his mother. “I don’t know much about her, save for a physical description Gramps gave me. He also said she was nice, but that’s…” He gestured vaguely, and Marco understood how insubstantial that knowledge must be for the pirate.

“She was beautiful,” he began as Ace crossed his legs on his bed, settling down for story time. “Really beautiful. Strawberry blonde hair down to her waist, cute freckles, a kind face… She was younger than Roger, a lot younger, about the same age difference as you and I, I think. She was either 30 or nearly 30 when Roger was executed, I can’t remember exactly. There was one story I heard from Pops where…”

Ace closed his eyes to the sound of Marco’s voice filling his mind with immeasurably precious information about his mother, the woman he had never met but loved above all else. He would treasure her memory, her name, her blood in his veins, even if he didn’t do the same for his father. Rouge, he knew, had loved him implicitly, and he felt that love spanning the years, felt the ghost of her arms around him, her beloved son, as Marco described how she would stroke her pregnant belly and sing to her unborn child at night, unaware that she attracted many of the crew to listen to her sweet melodies.

Here rested Portgas D. Rouge’s memories, safe in her son at long last.

***

Ace did end up taking Marco’s watch shift that night after shouting down the blond’s protests. He wasn’t going to sleep anyway, he argued, and had effectively told Marco to kindly fuck off before he burned him. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug as he settled with his back to the mast in the crow’s nest, binoculars, lantern, drink, and a well-thumbed book ready beside him for when the hours dragged on. Not just anyone could yell at Marco and get away with it; he had seen some of the more mouthy crew members do just that only to get their teeth kicked in by the strongest man on board, excluding their Pops.

The night had already well and truly drawn in by now and so Ace lit a finger and held it to the wick of the lantern, closing the glass door to the flame when it took and sprang to life. He had the good sense not to use his own flames for light when on watch, just in case he did happen to fall asleep and set fire to the Moby Dick. That would definitely not go down well.

He jumped violently when movement caught his eye, but calmed immediately when he recognised it as Thatch’s fucking pompadour appearing over the top of the rim of the crow’s nest. The bigger man hauled himself up and over in a manner that spoke of having consumed a few cups of Pop’s good sake, and he plonked himself down next to Ace with a loud sigh of effort.

“You aren’t Marco,” Thatch observed helpfully, earning an amused grin from his friend. “Why?”

“I took his watch,” Ace laughed as Thatch peered at him, frowning, “he helped me out earlier when I had a migraine, so I’m returning the favor.”

“Sweet of you.” Thatch tousled Ace’s thick dark hair affectionately, ignoring the splutter of protest as he did so. “You’re such a nice kid, Ace. I’m so glad we have you in the crew now. Would have been a damn shame to have to dump you on an island if things hadn’t have worked out.” He settled his back again the wide mast as well, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and offering one to Ace, who declined but held out a lit finger to light his nakama’s. “Marco’s very taken with you, y’know,” Thatch said matter of factly with a puff of smoke, “very. He doesn’t give much away - or at least he doesn’t think he does - but he thinks you’re the shit.”

Ace grinned. “He said the same thing about you earlier, y’know. Guess I’m just that damn loveable.”

Thatch laughed and pulled his friend into a one-armed hug, squishing Ace’s cheek into his broad chest. “You said it, my boy! I think you’re fantastic, simply brilliant. There hasn’t been a dull moment since you joined.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with Thatch’s alcoholically-induced raised body heat spread through Ace at these words, and he couldn’t help but hug Thatch back. It felt how he imagined it would feel to be enveloped in a father’s loving arms, and Ace mentally chided himself, not for the first time, for taking so long to accept these pirates as his family.

“I love you too, Thatch.”

Thatch chortled happily and ruffled Ace’s hair again, making it stick up at the back and look like he had fallen out of a bush. They let go of each other and settled companionably against the mast, the sea breeze gentle and caressing their faces.

“So, were you looking for Marco for any particular reason?” Ace asked after a couple of moments. He was really keen to talk to Thatch about Marco, about anything at all to do with Marco, after the conversation he had had with him earlier. He couldn’t get it out of his head, the way his heart had felt like it was doing a double flip when he had purposely brushed his fingers along the commander’s, how he had looked into deep cobalt eyes of _want_ for the first time. He was sure of what he had seen, and was certain that Marco was interested, but the man hadn’t responded. There were so many reasons why that could be, and it could have been any number of them. It was very well known that you didn’t fuck your crew mates - that much was a given on any ship as it could lead to so many problems - but that wasn’t what Ace wanted. Well, maybe a little. But mostly he just wanted _Marco_ and all that was him, the whole enigmatic, interesting, intelligent, muscular package. He was drawn to the older man like a moth to a flame.

“Yeah.” Thatch’s grunting reply snapped Ace out of his taboo train of thought. “I need to talk to him about something, but he’s an ass and keeps avoiding me. I thought I could corner him up here when he’s not allowed to leave, but instead I find my little human bonfire!” He snickered as he puffed on his cigarette one last time before flicking it over the side. Ace sincerely hoped it didn’t catch fire on the deck below and he got saddled with the blame… again.

“Is it something I can help with?” Ace enquired, hoping he didn’t come across as too nosy. Not that Thatch would care, though.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “this is a Marco problem. Dude’s lonely, has been since forever. I was going to try and talk some sense into him and tell him to just go for it, y’know?” He gestured broadly with his hands, and no, Ace didn’t know. “But he won’t have it, just tells me to fuck off when I try and talk to him about it. He has such a gigantic stick up his ass, it’s so annoying. Even Pops tells him to chill the fuck out a bit.”

Ace nodded along with Thatch’s words, but his brain was failing to comprehend. Marco was lonely? Here, surrounded by so many of his brothers?

“He’s diligent, y’know?” Thatch seemed quite content with ranting about his good friend now that he had got started. “Hardly ever sits with us at dinner because he wants to drone on at Pops about reports and allies and god knows what else instead, and he goes off on his own to scout ahead even though we have someone on the watch all the damn time, and he’s always taking care of people in the medical bay even though he’s not the only doctor on board and could leave it to the others… I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with all that, because there isn’t, but he could do with relaxing a bit from time to time.”

“I spoke to him for a while earlier,” Ace said conversationally, “when he brought me that amazing dinner you made for me.”

Thatch grinned. “Glad you liked it. And he’s finally talking to you, eh? About time.” Ace’s brow furrowed and he looked at Thatch quizzically, but Thatch didn’t elaborate. Instead, he stood up, stretched, and looked down at Ace where he sat. “Right, I’m gonna go to bed… or see if Izou wants a round of poker, if he’s still up. Thanks for the chat, Ace, see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, sleep well.” Ace raised his hand in farewell as Thatch clambered over the side and began his descent back to the deck, but his mind was racing with the day’s activities.

He stood slowly and leaned on the side of the crow’s nest, bringing his binoculars to his face and scanning the horizon. Nothing but sea in all directions. He stooped to place them back on the floor, and then rested his elbows back on the side, cheeks cupped in his palms. The sea was calm tonight, lapping gently at the hull of the ship way down below him. Ace watched as one of the other whale-fronted Whitebeard fleet ships crept into his periphery on the left, far enough away that he couldn’t make out who was on watch over there, but he felt a glow of comfort to know that more of his family were nearby.

His thoughts drifted back to his mother and all of the stories that Marco had told him of her. Even though it had only been for a scant couple of days while transporting her to safety almost 20 years ago, Marco had known, had been in contact with, Rouge. He remembered her, had spoken to her, had felt life in her when she had asked if he wanted to feel her baby kicking. Him. All those years ago, Marco had felt the stirring of Ace’s life within Rouge, completely unaware that one day that tiny life would grow up to become part of his own family. There was something woefully melancholic about this thought, as Ace understood that Marco had had more time with Rouge, however little it had actually been, than Ace would ever get the chance to.

Ace rubbed at his eyes angrily as tears gathered in the corners. He should be happy to finally have stories that proved that Rouge had lived, had really, truly _lived_ and had so wanted her son to live a happy life. But the miserable feeling of loss would not leave him, gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

And then there was all that Thatch had said. Marco was lonely - Ace could relate in that moment with nothing but ghosts of his mother to keep him company. He wished Thatch would come back and explain properly. Or, better yet, he wished Marco would appear and they could take care of each other’s loneliness together.

Just as he was about to resign himself to the terrible romance novel he had found in his room and brought with him to read that night, Ace happened to glance round to the other Whitebeard ship and saw something in the sky. Something bright, like a star, only it was gradually getting brighter, and thus closer. He watched for a few seconds, unable to tell if it was a threat or not; the guy on watch on the ship parallel to the flagship hadn’t raised an alarm, and they were at least a few hundred feet closer to whatever it was.

Ace grabbed up the binoculars again and focused them on that spot of bright light, but in his haste his grip slipped as he brought them to his face and they fell, bounced on the side, and tumbled down to the deck.

“Shit,” Ace hissed, watching them fall for a second before looking back to the light. It was significantly closer now, whatever it was was moving fast and if he was not mistaken it was coming straight for the ship. Why wasn’t the other watchman doing anything? Should he raise the alarm himself? But what if this wasn’t an emergency and the other watchman knew and thus just carried on doing whatever he was doing? Ace dithered, peering over the side again to look for any wondering crew members to yell to, but no one was this far back down the ship; those who were still up would be either in one of the gyms below deck, drinking in the mess hall, or drinking further up the ship on the front deck.

He looked back to the approaching light; it was so much closer now and would reach him in a few seconds. It had passed the other ship and Ace could now see it was light blue in color and appeared to be… fire?

_Fine_ , he thought, rising to the challenge immediately, igniting his right fist and raising it, preparing a fighting stance, _c’mere and see what you get for fucking with the Whitebeard crew._

His flames seemed to act as a homing beacon for the thing as it changed its course ever so slightly and flew directly towards him.

In a flurry of vibrant blue and gold flames, beating wings, and the scrape of gigantic talons, a huge, flaming bird landed gracefully on the side of the crow’s nest precisely where Ace had been leaning just moments ago. The shock of the arrival and the rush of wind the landing bird brought with it knocked Ace down to the floor, his fist extinguishing in order to stop himself setting fire to the ship.

His mind was in panic. The bird had a combined wingspan of at least 15 feet, and it was easily as big as he was. Three immensely long, golden tail feathers whipped through the air behind it as it found its footing, folding its immense wings in close to its body, and it was only then that Ace’s reeling brain grasped the fact that _the bird was completely on fire_. It was as if it was _made_ of fire, vivid blue with hints of gold throughout and with a beautiful golden plume on its proud head. It was going to set the ship on fire and his crew would be in danger.

But the wood beneath its feet did not erupt into flames. There was no crackling or popping of wood burning. The bird simply sat, watching him, as if it was waiting for him to make a move. Ace looked right back at it, ass on the floor, wondering what in the ever loving crap was going on. He had never seen anything like it, never seen anything quite so… beautiful.

Slowly, cautiously, he got to his feet, gauging the bird’s reactions. It did nothing more than continue to eye him. The flames that made up its body flickered and danced, and as Ace calmed down he began to notice that the creature was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It really did seem to be made of fire rather than being _on_ fire. With a gasp, Ace realised.

“You’re a _phoenix,_ ” he breathed, taking a step closer. Still the bird did not move. He had read about phoenixes and knew what they were supposedly like, but they had always been illustrated as red and orange rather than blue and gold. Also, of course, they were mere myths, none ever having been seen in real life.

Ace’s eyes were drawn to the bird’s chest, only now able to make out the pattern that was there as his eyes fully adjusted to the bright glow that was emanating from the phoenix. Whitebeard’s mark. His eyes snapped back up to the phoenix’s face; it continued to watch him, its eyes calm and placid, telling him that it was not a threat, that it was very clearly a friend.

A euphoric sense of utter wonder numbed Ace to the world, completely engulfing him and replacing the panic entirely. This was so completely surreal that he was almost sure he was dreaming. The stillness of the air, the swish of those great tail feathers, the dancing of the flames…

Stepping closer still, Ace reached out a hand to the phoenix and waited for it to react. It didn’t. Slowly, carefully, he laid his palm to Whitebeard’s mark and felt feathers there in the flames, but the flames themselves did not hurt or burn. He could feel them lapping at his skin, caressing his hand and arm as he ran his palm over the mark and murmured, “who _are_ you?”

The phoenix bent its neck a little, lowering its face closer to Ace’s. Ace had the distinct impression that it was going to speak, but it said nothing. He moved his palm from its chest and gently slid his fingers along the side of its beak and up along its face, cupping there under its left cobalt-ringed eye. The phoenix seemed to lean into his touch ever so slightly, closing its eyes for a little longer than a blink, and then it was spreading its massive wings again, readying for flight.

“No!” Ace cried, withdrawing his hand and thinking for one mad moment that maybe he should grab the bird around its middle to stop it flying away. “Don’t go!”

But it took off with a great beat of its fiery wings, talons pushing off and away as Ace braced himself again the sudden gust of wind it generated. “Don’t go!” He called again, his eyes squinting open against the rush of wind as the phoenix soared away in a flurry of cyan and gold, eventually dropping out of sight over the horizon as Ace stared, completely bemused by what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work in medicine - specifically the area of medicine demonstrated at the start of this fic - and this initially began as me wanting to include a topic I actually know with my favorite characters, my favorite, most beloved ship, in one of my favorite universes. It only acts as the catalyst to get these two idiots talking to each other, and that's it's entire purpose.
> 
> I've loved the Whitebeard Pirates, Ace, Marco, Thatch, and their whole wonderful family dynamic since 2010. Ace and Marco's powers are so intricately linked and there is so much you could do and write about with them, but they never got the love they so deserved in canon. Marco especially has such an incredibly interesting devil fruit and yet very little has been done with him.
> 
> Thank you for reading my garbled fic that's essentially just me working out my headcanons and how to make love blossom in a non-overbearing way. idk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should go without saying, but these guys swear. A lot. They're drunk pirates, after all!
> 
> It should also go without saying that anything expressed by any characters in anything I write is not necessarily a reflection of my own opinion. On anything at all. Not that anyone says anything offensive, but... disclaimer *jazz hands*
> 
> I'm sorry about the word count but somehow the whole thing still feels rushed to me. Help.

“It was a phoenix, Thatch, a _phoenix!_ ”

“Yeah, all right, Ace, I heard you the first time, now would you _please_ stop spraying me with food?”

It was breakfast the next morning, and Ace and Thatch were having their meal early. Thatch always got up early, hangovers be damned, so as to oversee meal prep for the day ahead before going about his errands and whatnot. Ace had not slept, opting to power through the day after being on watch all night and then getting to bed early when night rolled round again. Plus, the arrival of the phoenix had occupied his mind all night long and there was no way he could think of sleeping now.

Porridge flicked off Ace’s spoon as he brandished it wildly at Thatch, far too overexcited for such an early hour in the morning. The guy had somehow managed to get porridge smeared up his left cheek as well, and Thatch made no attempt to inform him of this. “It was surreal,” Ace recounted as Thatch elegantly dodged the flying cereal, “it was like 20 minutes after you left. I was just standing there and then whoosh, this fuckin’ massive thing arrives and just sits and looks at me. It had Pops’ mark on its chest so it has to be, like, I dunno, a pet?” Thatch snorted so loud he worried for his blood vessels. “Or, ooh, is it a Zoan fruit user? Are there Zoans like that? Is it a member of the crew? Do you know who it is?”

Thatch chuckled at how excited Ace was. It was positively adorable. There was no way he was going to divulge the identity of the phoenix, not when Ace was clearly having so much fun in his ignorance. Plus, letting Ace find out on his own seemed like the right thing to do, all things considered.

“Dunno, mate,” Thatch shrugged, summoning his best poker face, “can’t say I’ve ever seen it before. Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”

“No!” Ace exclaimed. “It was real! I’m going to take watch again tonight and see if it appears again - who’s shift is it? I’ll swap with them. It’s not you, is it?”

Thatch took a bite of his toast to stop himself smiling broadly. “No, not tonight. Pretty sure its Eric from my division. You can ask him if you like, but he’s a stickler for routine so I doubt you’ll have much luck.”

Ace frowned; he knew Eric, and he knew what Thatch meant. Eric did not take well to having his routine changed, which must have been hard for him to cope with if they were ever attacked.

“OK then, I’ll take watch with him and-”

“No, you won’t.”

Both men turned to look behind them at the newcomer as Ace was lightly smacked on the head with the rolled up newspaper that Marco held in his right hand, mug of black coffee in the left. Ace frowned up at him.

“Why not?” He demanded.

“Because you need to sleep, you’ll probably end up with a migraine again, and you’ll scare the phoenix off if you wait for it like a predator.” Marco couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips as Ace looked aghast.

“How do you know that?”

“Marco’s an avid bird watcher, the sad prick.” Thatch grinned, backing away in a hurry as Marco attempted to whack him with the newspaper too.

“Pops is asking for you when you finish up here, by the way,” Marco informed Ace as he moved around the table and sat down opposite them, setting his things on the table, “so be a good boy and go find out what he wants. Also, wipe your face; you’ve got porridge all over it.”

Ace rubbed at his cheeks quickly, growling at Thatch for not telling him about it sooner. He shovelled down the rest of his porridge in a heartbeat (much to Marco and Thatch’s mutual disgust) and got up quickly, hurrying off with his bowl to the service station nearest to them where it would be collected by whoever was on washing up duty that morning.

“See you later!” He called to the two men, his eagerness to get to Whitebeard hurrying him away from them. Thatch chuckled as he waved goodbye before rounding on Marco.

“You and I need to have a chat,” he informed the doctor, quirking an eyebrow. Marco took a sip of his coffee in response. “About that boy. About that phoenix he’s got himself so excited about.” Marco didn’t say anything, so Thatch continued. “How is it possible that he doesn’t know it’s you?”

Marco shrugged. That was simple enough. “We’ve not had the opportunity to fight together yet,” he said honestly, “or at least not in a situation where I was required to transform. My haki took down that last lot of so-called challengers; it was pretty embarrassing, actually. I felt quite sorry for them.”

“Uh-huh. And it’s never come up in conversation before?”

“No.”

“He’s never asked if you have a devil fruit power?”

“No, he hasn’t. He assumes I never fetched him from the sea when Pops sent him flying because you were always so keen to play lifeguard and go get him.”

That was a fair enough point. In the early days, Thatch had indeed spent most days stripping off to his underwear and diving in after Ace before he drowned. Sometimes when he was feeling particularly pissed off with the boy he would leave him to panic for a good minute or so, but he had almost always been the one to go get him.

“He’s a lovely kid,” Thatch said, watching Marco carefully as the blond shook open his newspaper, “and he thinks a lot of you, y’know. I think he was hurt that you didn’t speak to him for a while after convincing him to stay. He noticed.”

Marco nodded. “I spoke to him about that yesterday,” he clarified.

“Oh, good.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Marco reading the paper and Thatch finishing up his toast, watching his crew members slowly filling up the hall around them.

“We’ve known each other a very long time,” Thatch said at last, his chin in his palm as he looked at Marco, “and I know you very well, mate. I also care about you a great deal. You should allow yourself the thing that will make you truly happy, and you know it. You gotta go for it, because you’ll regret it if you don’t. I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he added in a hurry as Marco looked distinctly ruffled by his words, “but just because you’re mister big important first mate and doctor doesn’t mean you can’t allow yourself a bit of personal happiness here and there. Maybe try spending more time with us mortals down here in the mess hall at dinner, for starters? We’d really like that.”

Thatch was right. Of course he was right. Marco was only too aware of how his periodic absence from the crew must come across, despite his distinct lack of ill intentions. Marco was also well aware of his important position on board the flagship and within the crew, but it tugged at his heart to think that some of the crew might believe him to have an inflated sense of self-importance because of it. He didn’t, not in the slightest, and had always simply tried to do the best he could by his old man and his brothers.

And there was the problem of Thatch clearly knowing far too much about his private thoughts - was he that obvious? He liked to think he wasn’t, that he was unreadable when it came to matters of the heart, but perhaps he wasn’t as unfathomable as he had hoped.

“I am happy,” Marco said truthfully, “and I’m sorry I don’t spend more time with everyone in the evenings. I’ll make more of an effort to, but I’ll probably need help organising time to talk with Pops during the day more.”

Thatch grinned at his good friend. “Pops will probably enjoy not having you wittering in his ear all the time, my dude. Don’t look at me like that,” he laughed as Marco looked murderous, “you do go on a bit, and Pops loves you so he always listens, but you could cut it down a bit.”

“Yeah, well, you try it and see how easy it is to keep the conversation from meandering when he’s been at the sake,” Marco grumbled defensively.

Thatch chuckled and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head as he rocked back on the wooden legs precariously. He didn’t envy Marco’s position one bit, no matter how much he adored his adoptive father.

He already knew he wasn’t going to get Marco to admit anything regarding Ace, and probing him on the matter would almost definitely result in the blond either simply leaving or, if Thatch really riled him, he would withdraw completely and go back to avoiding Ace, avoiding his own desire to be close to the Fire First and, ultimately, end up hurting them both by doing so.

Thatch was not a cruel man, and despite his exuberant personality he also knew when to hold his tongue.

“So anyway, what does Pops want with Acey-boy so early this fine morning?” The chef asked lightly, steering the conversation away from what he had wanted to discuss, grabbing at the new topic that had presented itself instead. “I hope it’s about that food he stole last week, I was so ready to slice up his damn pretty face for that.”

He positively seethed at the memory of finding the enormous pantry’s door stood ajar with Ace inside, helping himself to the gigantic roll of cheese that had been designated for use in that evening’s meal for the first four divisions. Thatch had chased the little thief around the upper decks in a rage as Ace had yelled apologies and sob stories of a starving stomach over his shoulder.

“No, although that might come up,” Marco chuckled. “He’s going to ask Ace about what we discussed at the last commander’s meeting.”

Thatch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “He’s going to ask Ace why Haruta’s so behind on his division’s expenses and accounting? I don’t think Ace will know the answer to that one.”

“Ah, so you _did_ fall asleep in that meeting. I thought it was strange that no one had blabbed to Ace yet.”

“How rude! Like you’ve never fallen asleep during a meeting!” Thatch sniffed indignantly as Marco grinned at him. “And I can keep a secret!”

“Of course you can,” Marco said reassuringly, not bothering to raise the fact that Ace somehow always knew the details of the private meetings - the source of the leak was not a difficult one to guess. “No, Pops is going to ask Ace to become the commander of the second division. The post has been vacant for so long, and no one else has expressed an interest in it. We were all in agreement that he has all of the qualities needed for the job, if he’ll take it.”

Thatch looked impressed and pleased at this information. “He’ll be the perfect fit,” he said in a proud, fatherly tone, “and he’ll really be one of us now. We’ll have to train him up good. Oh,” he added with a snap of his fingers, “who’s gonna be his mentor? Was that decided, or is Pops gonna choose himself?”

“It’ll be me,” Marco confirmed, “since I’ve been doing most of the second division’s expenditure paperwork ever since Raynaud stepped down. The first and second divisions also historically work closer together than any of the others, given that they’re the primary forward offensive parties. It makes the most sense.”

Marco didn’t add that he was really pleased about this and that upon initially realising just _how_ pleased he was he had considered asking Pops to let someone else teach Ace how to become an effective commander. The incredibly intrusive thought of _you’ll have Ace underneath you_  - and the equally intrusive mental image of the young man in such a position - kept popping into the blond’s head and testing his sanity.

And then Thatch vocalised the very thought that Marco had been squashing down for the best part of a week.

“Heh, bet you can’t wait to have the little fireball right underneath you at your beck and- ow! Don’t kick me!”

***

Ace accepted the position, of course. Not immediately, which didn’t come as a surprise, as there was a lot to consider and people he wanted to talk to about it first. Ace had sat with Teach that evening for dinner and pressed him for his thoughts, meeting no resistance from the much bigger man as he had laughed and told Ace that he didn’t want the job and that Ace would be a perfect match.

Ace fell asleep that night with his mind racing and his heart warm with the knowledge that Whitebeard and the other commanders thought so highly of him already.

 _“Marco really argued your case, even though no one present needed convincing,”_ Whitebeard had chortled, patting Ace on the head affectionately. _“Said he’s never seen anyone take to the crew quite like you have in the last few months, and that if you weren’t made a commander it would be an insult to your abilities. You should have heard him! Damn fool thinks he’s the only one who cares for you.”_ Whitebeard had laughed long and loud, IV drip in his arm quivering with the force of the sound.

The following night Whitebeard personally announced the news to the entire crew, visiting each of the four ships in the fleet to inform the resident members of the news. He decided they would hold a huge party on the deck of the white-whaled flagship that night instead of having their regular meals in each ship’s mess halls, meaning that the deck was a bustling hive of activity and too many bodies that night as the crew’s chefs went above and beyond with a massive barbecue on deck.

With a belly full of incredible food and a tankard of something foamy that Curiel had poured him in hand, Ace sat in a circle with Haruta, Izou, Rakuyou, Vista, and Thatch as they watched Curiel recount in enormous detail the hilarious story of how Thatch had joined the crew.

“Just whisked him off, in the end,” Curiel roared drunkenly as Vista merrily thumped Thatch on the back, “poor fucker was screaming his head off - ‘put me down, you can’t make me be a pirate!’ - but by fuck we did, eh Thatchie? You were so blown away by Pops’ love for his sons that you even abandoned your name!”

Ace’s head snapped round to Thatch immediately, utterly confused. “You did what?” He asked as Thatch heaved a sigh. “Your name isn’t really Thatch?”

“’Course it is,” Curiel boomed, waving a massive hand dismissively, “it’s his surname, right? Never wondered what his first name is, Fire Fist?”

He hadn’t. Everyone present could see that Ace had always assumed Thatch to be the man’s first name.

“Ah, c’mon Curiel, let’s not do this,” Thatch moaned, thumping his tankard down on the floor after draining it, “just when I’d forgotten I ever had another name.”

“His name was Edward Thatch,” Curiel powered on, cutting across Thatch’s whining in his loud, carrying voice, “he dropped the ‘Edward’ part on becoming a member of the crew, see, ‘cause of Pops!”

“Isn’t he a sweetheart?” Vista smirked at Thatch, who had visibly reddened, as Ace gaped at him. Vista slung an arm around Thatch’s shoulders, gripping him tightly. “Imagine if Marco hadn’t found you drunk in a gutter that night and taken care of you, you’d probably still be back on that speck of an island cooking for those ungrateful bastards even now. And then where would we be? We’d be without the best damn cook in all of the world, is where!”

Thatch pulled away gently as Vista roared with drunken laughter; he was flushed with embarrassment but looked humbled by his brother’s affections. Ace, however, picked up on something else.

“Marco got you to join, too?” He asked, looking immensely interested. “How?”

Thatch opened his mouth to speak, to assure Ace that it hadn’t been anything to write home about, not really, that they had never had a spark between them quite like Marco had with Ace, but he was cut off.

“Well, y’see,” Izou, who was sitting on Ace’s immediate left, leaned in, brandishing his cup of sake at the younger man as he spoke, “this was back when most of the crew hadn’t joined yet and we didn’t even have commanders. Marco was our old man’s first nakama, right, and we were a small crew who were fast becoming known in Thatch’s section of the world. Thatch was, get this, a _marine_ -” Thatch groaned into his hands loudly as the truth came out, “- and he was drunk as all hell when we made land and marched into the first pub we found.”

“Thatchie here started a fight with Marco, like, as soon as we rolled up at the bar,” Vista smiled reminiscently, patting Thatch on the back as he held his face in his hands at the shame of the memory of his origins, “probably because Marco had the misfortune of standing next to him, I dunno. Why _did_ you start on him?” He nudged Thatch to respond.

“Because his hair looked fucking stupid,” Thatch’s voice was muffled in his palms, “and I was already pissed off and drunk.” Ace threw back his head and laughed along with the others.

“So then Marco’s like, ‘who’s this shithead?’” Rakuyo took over the story now, grinning widely, “and just sorta sidesteps Thatch when he throws a punch, and Thatch goes down like a sack of spuds and starts wailing about how much he hates his job.”

“You would have hated it too!” Thatch shot back, lifting his head from his hands and glaring at Rakuyo, who just laughed at Thatch’s flushed cheeks. “They treated me like shit, those guys! ‘Hey Edward, go get our stuff’, ‘Edward, take my shift’, ‘Edward, do my entire fucking job for me because I’m a lazy, useless piece of filth’.” Thatch swatted Vista away as the large man tried to hug him in sympathy.

Ace recalled his conversation with Marco where he had mentioned that Thatch had come from a wealthy family; he frowned, trying to puzzle out the steps between that life and taking on the job of what Ace could only assume to be a low-ranking cook at a marine base, but there was too big a blank gap in the story and too much alcohol in everyone present - save himself, ironically - to try to ask about this.

“And then,” Izou carried on as if he hadn’t heard Thatch, impatiently tapping Ace’s knee to bring the Fire Fist’s attention back to himself, “Marco bodily threw the poor guy out of the pub and we didn’t think anything more of it and got properly pissed off our metaphorical tits.”

“As was standard,” grinned Curiel.

“As was our way,” agreed Vista.

“So then what happened?” Haruta piped up, signifying that he hadn’t joined the crew at this point and, somehow, had never been subjected to Thatch’s recruitment story.

“So then off we trotted into the town to either carry on drinking, find ladies of the night, or eat,” Rakuyo said. “I myself found the most wonderful brothel where they were having a special on two for one that night-”

“We don’t need to know the details of your sexual deviancy, thank you-” Izou started, but Vista interrupted.

“I was to accompany Marco and Pops to a tavern that was run by a couple that Pops knew a little further into the town,” he said, stroking his impressive moustache, “but Marco disappeared when we left the pub we found Thatchie in.”

“He likes pulling his disappearing act, huh,” Ace mused, earning a nod from Vista. Even now, much to Ace’s annoyance, Marco was nowhere to be seen and hadn’t been present since Whitebeard had declared the feast ready for ‘massacring’, as he had put it.

“Indeed, he doesn’t cause a fuss and just slips away quietly when required,” the big man said, reaching for the bottle of red wine that he so enjoyed and pouring himself a fresh glass. “Well, he disappeared that night and popped up again in the morning with Thatchie in tow, looking hungover as a dog and embarrassed as anyone could be.”

“Said he spent the night talking to the poor fucker and just generally being a mother hen,” Curiel grunted, looking amused. “Only god knows why on earth he decided to take care of a marine.”

Ace looked across the small circle at Thatch, the laugher on his face dying as he studied the other man’s own features. There was something indescribable there, some poorly hidden message trying to get out that Thatch clearly didn’t want to talk about but that his alcohol-soaked brain wanted to bring up, something that he had most likely never told any of the crew. Ace knew that look, had seen it before on new recruits into his own old crew and was certain he had pulled that very expression when he had first told Whitebeard about his father.

“Bet ya a thousand belly they fucked,” Haruta chimed in, raising his tankard in challenge. Curiel snorted.

“Don’t be vulgar, you little shit,” he said dismissively, “those are your brothers you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t brothers back then, were they?” Haruta grinned suggestively. “Imagine, Marco drags marine Thatch off to an inn to look after him and do whatever mothering Marco likes doing when he finds someone being all vulnerable-”

“I think you’d call that part of being a doctor, Haruta-”

“Eh, whatever. But yeah, he takes the drunk marine up to the room, lies him down on his bed and thinks, ‘wow, he’s cute’, and smashes him.”

“Ex-fucking- _scuse_ me,” Thatch yelled, looking furious as everyone screeched with laughter at Haruta’s bluntness, “I have _never_ had a cock in my ass, I’ll have you know!”

More raucous laughter exploded through the commanders at Thatch’s admission, tankards banging on the wooden floor in mirth as a couple of other crew members wondered over to see what all the fuss was about.

“Boy, are you missing out,” Izou smirked, attempting to look sympathetic and failing.

“ _Really_ ,dude?”

“So then you fucked him, huh?” Haruta almost screamed in laughter, lurching to his left and clinging onto Ace for support, not noticing how Ace had gone rigid and wasn’t laughing with the rest of the men any more. “C’mon Thatch, admit it, when you’re up to your eyeballs in booze you try and fuck anything. Those poor, poor nurses…”

Thatch mouthed wordlessly, apparently too enraged to say anything, so Ace piped up. “Why does the story have to end with anyone fucking anyone else?”

“Because, my pretty little thing,” Izou cooed on Ace’s other side, taking a hold of his chin between his long forefinger and thumb and turning his face to look at him, “it makes the story _so_ much more fun, doesn’t it?”

No, Ace didn’t think so. He sat in silence as Izou winked at him before letting go to pour himself some more sake. The image of Marco’s naked body invaded Ace’s mind’s eye, sweat-slicked and chest heaving, moaning Thatch’s name as a younger, less lined Thatch pressed into him, mouthing a love bite to his collarbone as Marco groaned in ecstasy… Ace shuddered at the perfect clarity of the image and grabbed at his drink, knocking it back and downing the almost full tankard in one to dispel such an erotic yet entirely unwelcome image. He didn’t want to think of them like that, especially not Marco.

Especially not Marco in someone else’s arms.

“It doesn’t make it more fun!” Thatch raged, waving franticly at Ace to get his attention. “Don’t listen to these idiots, Ace,” he pleaded, eyes wide, “they do this with everyone, they always make up shit to fill in the gaps of stories they don’t know. I was so drunk that night that Marco had to literally carry me into the inn, I couldn’t even stand up, never mind screw anyone.”

Ace nodded to calm Thatch’s desperate worry, but he could still see that nagging something in the chef’s eyes that said that maybe Haruta had been on to something. Or maybe he was reading Thatch entirely wrong.

Or maybe he really didn’t want to know.

“Honestly, you’re all gigantic assholes,” Thatch hissed as Jozu approached and tried to settle into the circle, bucket-sized tankard in hand. “Ace has only been a commander for five minutes and you’re already giving him a bad first impression.”

“Ah, relax, Thatchie,” Curiel laughed loudly, patting Thatch on the back with such force the smaller man wheezed, “Ace already knew we’re crude and vile, right, Ace?”

Ace grinned back at the 10th commander. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, “or I would, if I had anything left.” He stood with ease, the only sober person present. “Anyone else want something? I’m gonna get me another.”

The small group declined, but Thatch started to rise as well. “I’ll come with you!” He chirped, but Vista yanked him back down.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he laughed, pushing his bottle of wine into Thatch’s hands, “you’re staying here and telling us about how in god’s name you started life as a marine. Have some wine; it’s amazing!”

Ace left the group as they started hounding Thatch again, his expression darkening as he made his way through the throngs of the crowd. On any other occasion he would have changed his mind and stayed to listen a tale he really wanted to hear, but for now he wanted to be alone for a moment, to calm down and regroup before joining back in; he was the focus of the evening, after all.

 _Of course Marco’s slept with people_ , he told himself angrily as he finally managed to squeeze his way through the crowd and stalked down the side of the ship, wending his way between the few staggering and singing drunks he encountered. _Of course he has. It would be incredibly weird if he hadn’t_.

But he still couldn’t get rid of the image in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Thatch had been in his early 20s when he joined, he had said months before, not much older than Ace was now. Ace guessed Thatch to be around the same age as Marco, meaning he had joined before Ace was even alive.

Had those two actually had feelings for each other at any point? If they had, Ace reasoned, they definitely didn’t now, that much was evident. There was nothing between them other than exceptional friendship, as far as he could tell.

And yet…

He had reached the very end of the ship. Ace held onto the railing that separated him from the calm sea below and looked out at the still night sky.

Haruta had been joking. Definitely. There was no way he could know, no way any of them could know, what had happened during one night so long ago. The only ones who knew were Marco and Thatch, and if Thatch said it hadn’t happened, then Ace would believe him.

But damn, he wished Marco had been there. _Why_ wasn’t Marco there? He would have dispelled the stupidity immediately if he had been.

“Ace!”

He whipped round to see Thatch jogging after him, surprisingly steady on his feet given how much alcohol Ace had witnessed him knock back in the last couple of hours. He came to a stop in front of the younger man, barely out of breath despite just jogging the length of the colossal ship, and gripped Ace’s arm fiercely.

“Thatch, what-”

“I can’t remember the night I first met the crew,” Thatch said in a rush, his expression serious and pinched, alarming Ace a little. “Well, not all of it. The last thing I remember is throwing a punch at Marco, and then, like, little snippets of being told to eat something to soak up the beer and waking in the night to vomit, but that’s all. He’s not like that; hell, _I’m_ not like that! Marco doesn’t go round bouncing on the dicks of drunk marines-”

Ace snorted a laugh, cutting Thatch off. “Sorry,” he said between giggles, holding up a palm in apology, “I imagined it. Carry on.”

“And me,” Thatch continued as if Ace hadn’t interrupted; it seemed so important to him that Ace understood everything, “I certainly didn’t make a habit of- I mean to say, I honestly couldn’t tell you how I even got up the stairs of that inn, I couldn’t have- I wouldn’t- but for all I know, Haruta could be right, but you need to know I don’t-”

“It’s OK,” Ace laughed, laying a hand over Thatch’s at his elbow and lifting it away gently, reassuring him. “I know what it’s like. I’ve been there myself - woken up somewhere with someone nearby but having no idea what in the name of all that is holy happened the night before. The answer’s usually ‘nothing’, I’ve learned. So don’t worry, I’m good. But,” he paused, patting his nakama’s arm affectionately, comfortingly, “thanks for clearing it up. I appreciate it. I’d hate to think badly of you guys.”

_I’d hate to be left questioning if you’d ever witnessed Marco in the throes of passion._

He felt angry flames lick at his spine at the mere thought of this. Thatch, luckily, didn’t notice.

“Right, well,” the chef looked distinctly wrong-footed now that he had said his piece, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck and looking at the floor, “glad that’s cleared up. Wouldn’t want you… y’know… would be bad if you thought- got the wrong impression right when you’ve become a commander…”

Man, was Thatch _bad_ at covering up. Ace laughed and patted him again; Thatch had given away that he knew, somehow, about Ace’s feelings for the older man, and Ace couldn’t bring himself to care how he’d found out. The Fire Fist had no idea that Thatch was in fact thinking of Marco’s feelings, not Ace’s.

“Chill,” he grinned, honestly feeling loads better now, “and go back to the others. I’m fine. Really. I’ll join you in a bit, I promise.”

“Really?” Thatch looked apprehensive.

“Yeah,” Ace replied, expression soft to Thatch’s worry. “I just need a minute, OK?”

He watched his friend leave with a smile on his lips, genuinely glad that Thatch had come after him. He had been ridiculous, getting jealous like that, and he felt it keenly, shame bubbling deep in his chest.

Yet there still remained that jealousy, that bitter, evil, twisted knot in his stomach at the very real, very definite understanding that should not have been remotely surprising, that he should have considered before - at some points in his life Marco would have been wrapped around other people, male or female or either, Ace didn’t know, his lips to theirs, his sweat mingled with his partner’s, his arousal tasted by people who were faceless and nameless and yet despised vehemently by Ace.

 _Let it go_ , he told himself firmly as flames trembled along his forearms and shoulders, his grip on the railing tight. _He doesn’t owe you his past. He doesn’t owe you anything and he is not yours to control._

There was no use in getting jealous of things that were entirely out of his control. Marco couldn’t go back and change what he had done any more than Ace could, had either of them wanted to.

Ace exhaled long and low, calming himself and his racing thoughts as he ran his fingers through his hair, pressing his thumbs to his temples for a long moment. Everything was fine and he would go back to his brothers and get blindingly drunk and have a fucking brilliant time, Marco’s absence be damned. He pushed off the railing lightly and turned to go, intent on wrangling a bottle of Vista’s coveted wine off him all of a sudden.

A flash of the brightest cyan caught his eye.

Ace gasped as the blue phoenix he had seen on watch two night ago swooped past just a few feet away in a blaze of ice and sunshine. It carved a wide circle far ahead low over the sea in an arc, gracefully angling back towards the Moby Dick with a beat of its huge wings. The gigantic bird seemed to notice him and came in to land majestically, pulling up short with a flurry of wings and lashings of its tail feathers, settling on the railing, talons clasping the wood.

Ace grinned like a child on its birthday, hands going to the mark on its chest without hesitation and feeling the warmth of the creature at his fingertips, the licking of the flames on his hands and arms again, and then his face as he couldn’t help himself and pressed a cheek to the phoenix, it’s fire calling to his own in an almost primal fashion. His very soul felt like it was resonating with it, like the fire within him wanted to consume and devour the phoenix and become one with it as legend told. Now that he wasn’t scared of it, was utterly certain that this phoenix was benign and, somehow, there for _him_ , he felt the pulsing, aching _need_ to be connected to it.

“You’re back,” he murmured into its warmth, relieved that it didn’t startle; Ace could feel, somehow knew, that the phoenix would not leave him this time. “I wanted to see you. I knew I didn’t dream you up.”

The phoenix nudged at his hair with its beak, coaxing him to pull away and look at it. Ace gazed into its calm eyes, raising a hand away from its chest to touch the cobalt ring around its left eye again, fascinated by everything about the creature. It felt so good to his touch.

It pulled back and, with a little hop, jumped down to stand on the deck beside Ace. It turned its back on him and spread its wings, but didn’t move. Ace stood, transfixed, watching the phoenix, hardly daring to believe that he was reading its body language correctly. It looked over its shoulder at him, eyes calm and cool as ever, waiting.

“You want me to ride you?” Ace asked in a hushed whisper. The phoenix didn’t respond but simply continued to stare at him, and he knew the answer was yes. He knew it could understand him, even if it couldn’t - or wouldn’t - respond.

Carefully avoiding the long, delicate tail feathers, Ace placed a hand on either side of the bird at the junction where its spread wings met its body. The phoenix bent forward slightly to allow Ace to scrabble on without sliding off down its back, and once he was relatively secure and holding on as tightly as he dared to the base of its long neck, the phoenix moved.

Great beats of its immensely powerful wings threatened to dislodge Ace at first as they caught him by surprise, and then with what he could only assume was tremendous effort it pushed off with its talons and rose, beating the air hard on either side of him and climbing high into the night sky. The cool night air stung his freckled cheeks as they rose into the air, his breath caught in his chest at the sheer incredibleness of the situation, at the feel of the flames on the backs of his legs, his arms, his hands.

As it reached its optimal height, Ace found he was able to lean back and sit more comfortably now that its back was completely horizontal, bringing his legs up to grip its sides with his knees much like how he had been taught to ride a horse without a saddle by Deuce almost a year ago.

They swooped low again and flew alongside the port side of the Moby Dick, Ace crying out in surprise as they soared towards the bow with incredible speed. In the rush of color beside them he could barely make out the alarmed faces of the crew, but he didn’t care - he was freer than he had ever been in body and mind, and with the creature that spoke to his powers.

He knew his flames couldn’t hurt it. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did, and he responded to the instinct with all his might as they climbed impossibly high on an air current above the party going on down on the deck. Ace pulled from within him the flames of the Mera-Mera fruit, engulfing himself in the bright orange fire and radiating intense heat on the back of the phoenix.

And oh, did it respond to him.

Cyan and gold flames erupted from the phoenix aggressively now instead of their usual gentle nature, swirling with his orange and dancing, chasing his fire in a brilliant battle of color high in the sky. The sensation was overwhelming, his heart full with the narcotic effect the combined flames had on him, immeasurable against anything he had ever felt in his life and filling him with the most utter sense of belonging he could ever remember, eclipsing even Whitebeard’s familial love and throwing it to the dark recesses of his memory for that one, inexplicably perfect moment. The mixture of their flames sent shockwaves of tingling euphoria through Ace’s skin, in his heart, in his very brain as they converged and moulded and mixed together, the blue swallowing the orange, the orange capturing the blue, until Ace was certain they would merge and become the most vivid of purples.

But they didn’t. Their fires quelled as the phoenix began to lose altitude, diving gracefully through the sky in a backwards arc that had Ace clinging onto it for dear life as it shot towards the ocean’s surface. He heard the collective gasp of the crew as they plummeted, but at the last second the phoenix pulled up powerfully and carried them around the other side of the ship, the starboard side, where it rose once more to circle the crow’s nest furthest back from the bow - the one that was guaranteed to be unoccupied by the watch due to its less advantageous location and height from the ground - once, twice, three times, before it fluttered down on strong wings and perched on the wooden railing there, its back to the mast so that Ace could slide off.

He didn’t want to let go, but the phoenix very clearly intended to set him down there. “Who are you?” He asked it again, his voice shaking after the intensity of the flight, at the unspoken words of souls binding, flames still flickering along his shoulders as he tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t, not when the cyan flames that he now knew felt so good mixed with his own were still so close, begging to merge with his again.

His heart was racing and his nerves were alight with adrenaline and passion raging through his every fibre, his heart screaming for the phoenix’s flames to merge with his again, for it to not leave, for it to reveal its identity.

And it did just that.

Turning on its talons in a great flurry of wings and display of power, the phoenix’s body, legs, and head transformed in an instant into Marco, his arms remaining as the great flaming wings for a moment longer before turning human with one last beat at the air. He stood silhouetted against the moon on the rail of the crow’s nest, balancing perfectly for a moment as he had in phoenix form before jumping down lightly to stand in front of Ace.

All reason, thought, and hesitation left Ace as Marco straightened to look him in the eye.

“It was _you_ ,” Ace breathed, and then the space between them disappeared as he surged forwards and brought them together, his arms winding around Marco’s neck as Marco’s pulled his waist in, bare chests pressed flush as they met in a passionate, heated kiss that spoke of utter and complete need for one another. Their lips glided against each other as Ace sighed into the kiss, Marco opening his mouth to the feel of Ace’s tongue seeking his own, deepening the kiss in an instant.

It was utterly indescribable.

Marco walked them backwards the couple of paces to close the gap between Ace’s back and the mast, and his hands moved to grip under Ace’s thighs as he lifted the younger man up, never breaking the kiss. Ace moaned into the motion, automatically bringing his legs up and wrapping them around Marco’s waist, pulling him in impossibly close and pressing his tongue into the warm mouth more insistently as they slid slowly down the mast, Marco lowering them to the floor with Ace’s back pinned to the wood, bodies still flush and aching for each other.

The heat between their bodies was searing but they revelled in it, the passion evident in their desperate, open-mouthed kiss. The phoenix was Marco. Of course it was. The mark on its chest was Marco’s and it had had his same calm eyes, the same cobalt blue of his human eyes around the phoenix’s.

“Marco,” Ace whispered against Marco’s lips, “it was you.”

“Yeah,” Marco breathed, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Ace simply shook his head and reclaimed Marco’s lips, incoherently desperate to feel them on his own, to feel the tongue pressed to his and feel the vibrant, incredible life in the man under his fingers.

As if reading his mind, blue flames crept along Marco’s shoulders and chest, calling for Ace’s fire. Ace hesitated, not sure if he could hurt Marco in this state, but the groan against his lips was all the encouragement he needed. Orange met blue once again between them as they melted into one another more intimately than sex would ever bring them, their hearts and souls combined as they had instinctively known from the very beginning they should have been.

The phoenix had found its flame, and it would bask in its inferno for all eternity.

“Stay with me here,” Ace moaned against Marco’s lips, the implication clear and needy. “Don’t go, Marco.”

Arousal spiked deep in Marco’s abdomen and he pressed against Ace, a hand sliding from his thigh to rest on his chest over his heart. Marco ignited his palm with his fire and Ace convulsed against him, a soft gasp stealing air from the blond as they met again, unable to keep their lips off each other. Marco didn’t think he could ever do anything again other than touch, feel, hold Ace, not now, not now that the dam had broken and the months of watching over him, the need to know the deepest parts of his history and his mind, had given way and he had been granted the man who had captivated him when no other could.

“I won’t leave you,” Marco whispered, trailing his hand down Ace’s abdomen, earning barely restrained moans as his flames cascaded over the sensitive skin there, drawing out licks of orange as he went. “I’ll never leave you.”

Marco pressed his palm between Ace’s legs, the ache between his own pulsing as he found Ace was already completely hard and damp in his shorts. They wouldn’t take it all the way, not tonight, not up here in the open and with nothing ready, but when Ace rolled his hips into Marco’s palm and his breath hitched just _so_ , Marco knew that sticking to kisses and touches was completely out of the question for both of them.

He had been stupid, so completely and all-consumingly stupid, to hold back, to distance himself from Ace when his heart had first twinged like he was experiencing his first love again. He had been even more unbelievably stupid to outright ignore the glaringly obvious move Ace had made in the bedroom two nights prior, and stupider still, if possible, to not do _something, anything_  to convey to the Fire Fist that he wanted him. Everything about him. Every freckle, every pout, every fear, every worry, every smile that burned with the passion of the sun.

Marco was all kinds of stupid.

Marco’s brain conveniently shut off when Ace’s hands left his skin and busied themselves with pulling his sash away and undoing his pants, fingers fumbling with desperate energy as he pulled the zipper down. Marco mirrored Ace, removing his belts and unzipping him, pulling away from that hot mouth just long enough to pull Ace’s boots and pants off in a hurry and rid himself of his own clothes before nestling himself back between those strong, lightly freckled thighs.

“Marco,” Ace moaned as he pulled the blond closer with the heels of his feet, gently urging on Marco’s lower back, “Marco…”

Ace was already so wet, so impossibly turned on, when Marco enclosed a hand around them both and stroked along their erections slowly, swallowing Ace’s groan eagerly as their lips met again, firm and wanting and wholly too much for either of them. Marco rocked his hips into the inviting heat and braced a hand alongside Ace’s face on the mast behind him, grounding himself as pleasure filled his senses. Blue flames danced along Marco’s knuckles teasingly, promising acute pleasure as he worked them up into a steady rhythm.

Marco’s lips left Ace’s and trailed along his cheek, to his jaw line, to the side of his neck as Ace panted into the juncture of Marco’s neck and shoulder, short, soft gasps audible when Marco kissed and sucked in a line down the heated skin. “Feels so good,” Ace mouthed against his skin. “Marco, this is unreal.”

Cyan flames encircled Marco’s fist and Ace could have sworn he saw stars in that instant. A hot, keening cry of deepest arousal issued from the younger man’s lips, pressed into the side of Marco’s neck in an attempt to muffle himself, but Marco didn’t want him quiet. He wanted to hear Ace’s desire and just what he was doing to him. Ace twitched in his lap and snaked a hand down to join Marco’s, wrapping his fingers around their cocks too and drawing out his own fire, adding to Marco’s and mixing red with blue once again.

“ _Ace_ ,” Marco gasped into the delicate skin just below his ear, “ _ah_ , Ace, I love you.”

He hadn’t meant to say the words, not now, not like this, and not with his face buried in that thick black hair he so loved to touch. But Ace didn’t falter, didn’t slow or pull back or indeed react at all, and Marco wondered if he had heard him over the sounds of his own panting and moaning.

Then-

“Me too,” Ace said breathlessly, pulling away from Marco’s shoulder and bumping the back of his head to the mast. Marco raised his face to look at his nakama, and if he had been any younger he would have probably come then and there just at the sight of the other pirate. Ace looked totally gone with pleasure, his eyes lidded and pupils dilated, cheeks pink under his freckles, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, and Marco had never seen anything more stunning in all his life. “Always.”

Ace pulled Marco in, lips meeting and sliding slowly against each other, tongues gliding sensually as Marco felt that familiar spasm and he came hot and hard into their hands, gasping against Ace’s tongue as his hips bucked and he coated Ace’s stomach with his seed. Ace followed, moaning Marco’s name against his lips as he spilled over himself too, thighs shaking and chest heaving with the intensity of his orgasm.

Their fires extinguished simultaneously, both basking in each other’s body heat now and breathing together, feeling each other’s hearts racing in their chests. They didn’t want to move, not just yet, not when they were so content just feeling each other’s life thrumming through them.

“I’m so glad,” Ace said eventually, still breathless, “that I joined this crew.”

Marco exhaled a laugh through his nose, kissing a freckled cheek as he came down from his high. “And I’m glad we didn’t let you drown in your first week,” he grinned into the still flushed skin. Ace snickered.

He had meant what he said; Marco was certain that he loved Ace. Nothing had ever come close to how he felt about him, no one had ever set his soul ablaze with an inferno that would never quell or smoulder. Ace was immeasurably fantastic in every way, and Marco was well and truly captivated by him in every sense.

But there was one lingering question in the back of his mind that he had to ask, even if he already knew the answer.

“Are you sure you want someone as old as me?”

Ace laughed and kissed Marco gently, softly, stifling his worries and silencing his doubt. Marco’s age was so completely irrelevant that Ace didn’t think there were enough words in the world to describe just how little he cared about the years that separated them. He only cared for Marco’s good heart, his dependability, and his fire, both literally and metaphorically. So he picked a word, just one single word to convey the enormity of a universe of infinite adoration.

“Always.”

***

Ace fell asleep that night wrapped up in Marco’s arms on the floor of the crow’s nest, tucked up against the strong chest that bore their captain’s mark so starkly. Ace fell asleep feeling loved in a way he had never thought possible, had never entertained himself with the notion of ever receiving, and he felt he could drown in that feeling and die happy. His smile never left his lips as he sunk into oblivion, keeping them both warm to the cool night breeze with his power.

Here was where he belonged. Here was where he would remain forever.

Life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My idea for Thatch's name also being Edward comes from the real person, Edward Thatch, better known as Edward Teach, much better known as Blackbeard. I don't believe it was a coincidence Thatch ended up with the name he did, given his role played in Teach becoming... well. You know.
> 
> And now I definitely need to write the story of how Thatch joined the crew - more drunk pirates are the best pirates!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I'm so sorry for boring you senseless ♥


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